


Prince of Wales

by burkiebeans



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Lots of dialogue, stigma - Freeform, talk of mental health
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 13:41:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14749937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burkiebeans/pseuds/burkiebeans
Summary: He was too young for this many injuries. They needed him.They needed him?Did they?





	Prince of Wales

**Author's Note:**

> based off this tumblr post  
> http://brownbluesargent.tumblr.com/post/174219439581/robert-burakovsky-im-glad-i-was-tough-on
> 
> also, this is just imagination. of course, i have no clue what his dad is really like and i dont know everything, so it's just what i thought of.

He took a deep breath and eyed the pucks on the ground. Five. In a neat line in front of the net. 

 

“Well,” his father said, “Go.”

 

Andre dangled the first one, faking right then shooting top left. He looked back at his dad who was standing on the bench. He did it four more times, skated a lap around the rink while his dad got the pucks, and stood in front of them. 

 

“Again.”

 

It was nearing midnight now. His game ended two hours ago and he had school tomorrow, he had a  _ test _ tomorrow. 

 

“Dad, I--”

 

“Andre.” his dad stared at him, “If you wanna play in the NHl--”

 

“ _ Dad, _ I do, but I really need to--”

 

“I played hockey too, you know. I know how the league works.”   
  
Andre sighed and gripped his stick harder. He was so frustrated he could cry.

 

“You need to work on your shooting, son. You need to build accuracy and speed.”

 

“I know, I just…” his voice cracked.  _ Fuck. _ He closed his eyes and lowered his head. “I know.”

 

“Just a few more rounds, and then we’ll go home.”

  
“Okay.”

 

\----

 

He was a still a kid in the Capitals eyes. When there’s guys like Ovechkin and Backstrom, even Holtby, 23 is young. He cursed around the locker room when he first got hurt. He  _ couldn’t  _  be hurt. He was too young for this many injuries. They needed him.

 

They needed him?

 

Did they?

 

He changed and went to the trainers, not bothering to talk when the guys flooded into the locker room. 

 

\----

 

The first game back was weird. He did his best. He really did. But nothing was working. He was close to punching a wall after the second period. All he could hear was his dad's voice ringing through his ears.

 

_ Faster _

_ Harder _

_ Pass the puck! _

_ Dammit! To your own player! _

 

He slumped in his locker and threw his helmet on the ground, then placed his hands over his ears. He needed to block it out.

 

He felt a weight on his shoulder and looked up to see TJ looking concerned.    
  


“You okay?”

 

Andre nodded and dropped his hands.  _ Don’t make it so obvious. _

 

He listened to Trotz’s spiel. Well, he didn’t listen, but he heard it. In the background.

 

The third period was even worse. He couldn’t figure out how to execute anything and they  _ needed  _ to win. Ovi deserves it. Nicky deserves it. 

 

He couldn’t forget anything. Not after the game. Not when he got home. 

 

Practice the next morning was brutal. He replayed everything that went wrong in his head the night before and got no sleep. It wasn’t until Braden cornered him on the ice that he realized he was acting weird.

 

“What’s wrong?” Braden asked, lifting his mask up.

 

“Nothing. What’s wrong with you?”

 

Braden sighed. “Cut the bullshit Andre. You haven’t said a word all practice, not even to Tom. What’s up?”

 

Andre sighed and looked around. Most of the guys had already gone to the locker room.

 

“I don’t know. I’m just mad.”

  
“At?”

 

He looked down. 

 

“Myself.”   
  


Braden inhaled quickly and put a hand on his shoulder.

 

“C’mon. Let’s go to lunch.”   
  


Braden drove them to a small cafe. It was quiet and hipster-- very Braden-like.

 

“Spill.” He said as soon as they sat down.

 

“Uh. I just. I haven’t been playing great. And maybe if I was playing better we’d win more? I just need to work harder and--”

 

“Woah, slow down.”

 

“Sorry.” Andre mumbled, taking a sip of his coffee. It was black and bitter.

 

“You think these losses are on you?” 

 

Andre looked up at him. He understood?

 

“Well, I mean, yeah. Like in the first period I just couldn’t get the pass in the best angle, and it probably cost us a few shots and stuff. And then in the third I guess I wasn’t skating the fastest, but I um… It was hard. That game wasn’t easy.”

 

Braden nodded, but didn’t look satisfied at all with Andre’s answer.

 

“God, you’re an idiot.” he muttered under his breath. 

 

“What?”   
  


“You just,” He started off loud, but stopped after a second.

 

“You can’t put blame on yourself, Andre.”

 

“But I wasn’t playing well.”   
  


“We’re a team.”

 

“I know.”   
  


Braden huffed. 

 

“You’ve been gone for ten games, Andre. No one expects you to be perfect.”

 

“I need to be, though. I can’t be anything less than perfect and… and in that game I was. I didn’t play well and it was hard and I just…” his voice got caught in his throat. All he could think about was the disappointment of his team, his city, his country. His dad. His family.

 

He choked and looked up at Braden with glossy eyes.

 

“I… I’m hurting the team. I can’t do that.”

 

“Oh, Andre.” He whispered. Braden reached across and Andre tumbled forward, nearly tripping over his chair to get to the booth. 

 

“You’re not bad, kid.” Braden whispered. “I promise you’re not. And no one’s mad at you. No one’s upset. We win and lose together, and we know you’re trying. It’s not easy coming off an absence like that. We don’t expect you to be the same level you were two weeks ago.”

 

Andre sniffled and nodded, wiping away his tears. He had all of this pent up for so long, he couldn’t remember when the last time he cried was.

 

“I probably look stupid right now.” he mumbled.

 

“Eh, maybe just a little.” Braden nudged him a little when Andre didn’t say anything.

 

“C’mon,” he whispered, “It’s a joke.”

 

Andre laughed a bit and looked up.

 

“My dad uh… I’m kinda hard on myself sometimes.” he whispered. “I think it was because I was so over-prepared as a kid. I don’t um, I don’t really know. But, thank you for um. Thanks for this.”

 

“Anytime, but I think, don’t take this the wrong way, I think you should probably see a sports psychologist. They’re pretty helpful. I see one too. It’s just, a lot of us aren’t ever taught to see ourselves as regular guys. And they help a lot, even if it’s just for venting.”

 

“Yeah.” Andre sighed. 

 

“You’ll be okay.” Braden said. “I promise.”

 

“Thanks.”   
  


\----

 

“I’ve always been really hard on myself and I’m probably always going to be. Ever since I was a kid, I had high expectations of myself and I just think I just have to get a rid of that a little bit. Not looking in the past, looking in the future. There’s always that next shift coming up. It’s kind of my problem. I think when I’m doing something bad, I’m thinking about it for a long time and it just sits in my head. That’s something I have to work on over the summer. I did hire a sport psychologist and he’s supposed to be really good. I’m going to work a lot with him over the summer and try to get a rid of that because it’s holding me back.”

 

He took a deep breath and glanced at Braden who gave his best Proud Dad Smile and a thumbs up.

 

And, holy shit. He just said that out loud. To reporters. To his team.

 

“We have your back, you know.” Nicky said as he walked out of the dressing room.

 

“Yeah, I know.”

 

\----

“I told you it would be okay.” Braden said, staring at the Wales Trophy in all its beauty.

  
“Yeah, I guess you did.”


End file.
